Chapter 1

It was when the shattered moon of Remnant hung high overhead that Vale Defense Force Squad Epsilon finished their final patrol along the base of what remained of Beacon tower. Once the primary communications hub of the Kingdom of Vale, the towering monolith had been overrun by Grimm and had become home to an unmoving reptilian giant that sat perched atop its peak.

Yet even though the mysterious creatures of darkness still prowled the abandoned academy, the Vale Defense Force continued to send aid into it. Not everyone had managed to escape during the Fall of Beacon and while survivors were rare these days, caches of Dust were still left behind in the school, something that could not be afforded.

Things only could grow worse as rumors of Atlas's plans to place an embargo on the mysterious, almost mystical substance had begun to spread. Without it the technology and weapons humanity so depended on to defend themselves would fail and the Grimm would overrun the rest of the Kingdoms, like they had Beacon.

The Creatures of Grimm came in shapes and sizes ranging, from the small and familiar to the large and strange. Everyone knew of them, and though the Kingdoms continued to spread and grow in power, the Grimm were always at the border, a constant check in place to the expansion of any human settlement. As Beacon had so clearly found out.

The Grimm freely prowled the streets now, in groups of five or six at a minimum, but hordes of two or three hundred weren't uncommon. What had once been dorms in the academy was a strict quarantine zone. Grimm swarmed over former homes by the hundreds, and though the base of Beacon Tower was far more sparsely populated by comparison, that still meant that they came across a rogue Grimm or two.

It was the absence of Grimm that had the squad on edge though. Even a veteran like their commanding officer, Sergeant Oakson, was clutching his rifle tight and had to keep himself from whirling towards the slightest sound. Grimm were excellent at remaining in the shadows, and it wasn't uncommon for squads to disappear overnight.

Epsilon squad was one of the few squads that had been involved in recovery since day one, several weeks prior. Despite the casualties other units had taken, they'd only rarely fallen below their manpower of six able bodied soldiers: One commanding officer, three riflemen, a communications officer and a medic.

All six of them had been worked to the bones these past few weeks, and tonight was no different. The search was tedious, stressful, and thankless. They found nothing on today's patrol, which was becoming the norm at this rate, and had covered all the predetermined locations. The only excitement had been an ambush by an Ursa that had left Oakson and several of his men with a few thin cuts along their arms and one along Oaksons legs. The injuries burned with the effort of movement, but they were minor overall. That did not subtract from the relief he felt when they completed the patrol though.

He sighed in relief and said, "Wilhelm. Radio back to base for a pickup."

"Yes sir," the Communications Officer said, the relief obvious in his voice. He slung the heavy communication apparatus off his back and onto the ground and worked to send back to their command center inside the City of Vale, some fifteen miles out, at least. Once, they could've used their helmet's to contact base, but with the destruction of Beacon tower and the CCTS along with it, they needed more powerful transmitters to report over longer distances; and so the old backpack radio had been brought back into service, much to Wilhelms continued frustration.

As he struggled to coach a functioning signal out of the archaic device, Oakson looked to the rest of his squad and made a spinning gesture with his right hand, index finger extended. Form a perimeter around Wilhelm, keep their eyes focused on the area around them. They weren't safe until they were back at base.

They fanned out in a triangle formation, rifles at the ready. Night vision goggles built into their helms made the pitch black night as clear as day, but shadows were still shadows and the Grimm loved popping out of them. Medical Officer Frank DuFresne knelt next to Wilhelm and helped him try and get a signal through the interference.

This was the worst part, the waiting. It would only take a minute, maybe two, for Wilhelm to send a message to base, but it was going to be an agonizingly slow few minutes while they waited. Oakson shouldered his rifle again, ignored the burning of the injury swathed under bandages on his right arm, and peered into the darkness. The final checkpoint was set at the front entrance of the tower, whose doors had been blown wide open. The old courtyard was already beginning to be overtaken by nature without humans to constantly prune it, and the once bustling plaza was now littered with debris and craters from the battle.

When the top of the tower had been destroyed, much of the debris had rained into the courtyard, and a particularly large chunk formed a natural wall for them to put their backs to on Oakson's right. He always kept an eye on it though, the Grimm were climbers after all.

Wilhelms radio crackled with static, a sharp unpleasant sound that scraped against the ear. It was unnaturally loud in the tense silence of Beacon's skeletal remains. Somewhere within the old auditorium, there was a heavy crash. The Grimm were stirring.

Oakson bit down on the apprehension in his chest and kept call. Panic and fear could draw the Grimm far more readily than a squeaking radio. He took a several deep breaths, in and out, in and out…

"Sergeant!"

Oakson's heart hammered wildly against his chest, and he sucked in a hard breath. He whirled to the offending private, and though his helmet hid most of his scowl, his posture made it plain for everyone to see. It was no surprise to the Sergeant that it was Private Richard Ryder that had startled him. The man made a habit of yelling everything, which was why Oakson made it a standing order for Ryder to keep his stupid trap shut, unless absolutely necessary.

It was what kept Oakson from blowing up at him. Instead, he growled through clenched teeth, "What is it, Dick?"

"I've got eyes on what appears to be a civilian at 12 o'clock! It's a survivor sir!"

There was a brief moment of excitement that crackled through the squad at that news. Finding any survivors at all was rare these days. Realistically, very few people could survive in Grimm infested territory for long, let alone a few weeks. But the possibility was still there, and that was enough to infect the entire squad with a giddy sense of hope and excitement.

It frustrated Oakson to no end that it was his job to squash that feeling, but care had to be taken. That was how they had survived as long as they had.

Oakson gestured at his remaining men to stay focused on their duties and walked up next to Dick. Without prompting, the man pointed inside Beacon Towers ruined lobby, and Oakson immediately saw what he was referring to.

A tall young woman walked through the lobby, holding herself tightly as she moved almost silently towards them. She had an athletic build, and her skin was almost ashen in its complexion. Her hair was long, falling to the small of her back, but the goggles did little to help Oakson figure out the color. A simple white tunic that fell just above her knees and a pair of simple leather shoes.

"Doc," Oakson said, voice low, "we've got a live one."

The medic left Wilhelm to his work and walked up next to Oakson. With a gesture, the Sergeant directed him and Richard forward. They flicked on the flashlights slung under their rifle as they approached the girl, and Oakson shut off his night vision goggles.

The girl winced and covered her eyes from the sudden light, and Doc said, "Ma'am, remain calm. We're with the VDF. Are you seriously injured?"

She shook her head, brushing a fiery red bang out of her face. Her eyes, Oakson noticed, were a deep crimson red that radiated exhaustion. Surviving in the ruins of Beacon would tax anyone to their limit, so that was no surprise.

"No…" the girl's voice was halting and quiet, "I'm unharmed, just… hungry."

Doc slowly approached her, and put his arms gently around her shoulders, guiding her back into their makeshift perimeter. Dick followed and resumed his position and shut off his rifles light once they were safely reunited with the main group. Doc lead the girl to the wall and pulled out a smaller handheld torch.

"Look into the light please," he ordered. She did as he instructed, and the medic looked her over for injuries.

Oakson stood by his side as he worked, and glanced back at Wilhelm. The man was in the process of calling for extraction, they could head home soon. Until the transport arrived though, they'd have to hold out. Which gave Oakson plenty of time to question their recent rescue.

"How is she?" he asked Doc.

The medic stepped back and shrugged, "Nothing I can see with what I have. Base will need to look her over when we get back."

Oakson nodded and turned to the girl. She had her head bowed, staring at the ground. The sergeant cleared her throat and she looked up at him with those blood-red eyes. Something about them made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He realized that it wasn't the color, the gods only knew how many different colors of eyes there were, it was the hunger in them. How long had it been since this girl had eaten?

He reached into a pouch on his belt and handed her an MRE, that she accepted with shaking hands. Oakson preferred using fingerless gloves in the field, let him handle more dexterous tasks if need be, and when he brushed the girl's hands, he noticed they were very cold.

"T-thank you." she stuttered, and bowed her head again.

Oakson smiled, "No problem miss…?"

"Nikos. Pyrrha Nikos."

His eyes went wide at that, and he heard the murmurs of surprise from the rest of the squad. "Pyrrha Nikos? The Invincible Girl of Mistral?"

She nodded silently, while fumbling the wrapper.

That was unexpected. Pyrrha Nikos was a world renowned combat champion, a natural prodigy among huntsmen. Many had predicted a long and illustrious career for her, until it had all come crashing down. Oakson himself didn't put stock in some of the more extreme views people had about Pyrrha, but he wouldn't deny that her final battle with Penny Poledina had certainly played a role in the siege of Beacon.

Of course, she had been assumed dead during the Fall. No one had seen her since the tower had collapsed, only finding the remains of her equipment beneath the frozen beast. It had been assumed she'd battled it in a last ditch attempt to undo the damage she had wrought.

Evidently, those theories were wrong, the girl was living proof. If there was anyone that could have survived in Beacon this long, Oakson could believe that it was Pyrrha Nikos. The question was though, why had she only just now shown herself?

"Where've you been all this time, Ms. Nikos?" Oakson asked.

Pyrrha gave up on the wrapper and sighed, "I... I was sleeping. I think. I don't… I know I was talking with someone, and then I slept and when I woke up, I was… cold, and hungry. So hungry."

Oakson gently took the MRE from her hands and peeled it open, then handed it back to her, "Uh-huh. Right."

He glanced at Doc. The medic shrugged, "Probably experienced something traumatic. Could be in a form of shock. Best to leave her be for now."

"Right," Oakson rolled his shoulder and winced at the burning pain in his arm.

Doc rolled his eyes, "Alright sergeant, your turn. Let's have a look at that cut."

It was pointless to argue with a medic. The sergeant did as he was ordered, letting Doc work his magic. The medic had just removed the bloodied gauze from Oaksons arm, when Pyrrha gasped and dropped the MRE.

Oakson glanced at her with a raised brow. Her eyes were focused entirely on the now exposed cut on his arm. It wasn't a nasty wound, narrow and shallow but long, running from the top of his shoulder down his bicep for a few inches. It hurt like hell, but long as it was taken care of, he'd be fine.

"Run in with an Ursa," he explained, "Just a minor cut. Nothing but armor to protect us regular folk, but I'll be fine."

Pyrrha managed to take her eyes off the cut for a moment to look at Oakson, then looked back at the cut, "R-right… you'll…"

As she trailed off, she started shaking. Given what she had gone through, that was no surprise to the Sergeant. He looked at Doc and gestured for them to move out of her sight. Maybe the kid's trauma was worse than they thought, who knew.

Right as they moved, Oakson saw Pyrrha run her tongue over her lips. She spoke, her voice low and husky, "I'm… I-I'm sorry sergeant. I'm just… so hungry…"

The last thing Sergeant Oakson saw, was a flash of pale skin, red hair, and a mawful of fangs rushing towards him.

And then, darkness.

Author's Note:
This story was originally created by Rapidfyrez from over at the Spacebattles forums and adopted by me with with his permission. I've tweaked a few things with this chapter to make it more canon-compliant. Comments, questions and feedback are appreciated.

Edit: minor tweaks since a reader on Spacebattles pointed it out to me that due to this taking place only several weeks after the Fall of Beacon means that the embargo from Ironwood hasn't gone into full effect yet.